Handling the Truth
by bethster102
Summary: Rose Leighton is sent to live with Mrs. Jones and attend and MI6-sponsored boarding school. One of Rose's instructors is an MI6 agent, so no one believes Alex when he starts investigating the teacher. While Rose believes him, she really doesn't want to...
1. Chapter 1

**This is a sequel to Hollywood's Not America and (slightly) A Valentine's Day Disaster. This'll probably make more sense if you read those first.**

**So: Rose has turned 15 and finished her first year of high school. She is sent to live with Mrs. Jones, in England, and attend and MI6-sponsored boarding school. One of her instructors is an MI6 agent, so no one believes Alex when he starts investigating her... least of all Rose.**

* * *

**March 21, MI6 headquarters:**

"_She will be excellent for Alex," Mrs. Jones insisted._

"_She will distract Alex! She needs to be under bloody lock and key. God knows she can't stay in the US, the CIA is already getting antsy. They don't like us messing around with their civilians," Mr. Blunt sniffed angrily._

"_For good reason! Look what's happening, Alan! She's a child. She needs love and care, and you want to—to—put her in some sort of criminal establishment!"_

"_I don't care where she is, as long as it has padlocks on the door and no one believes the children's fairy stories! Put her in military training school! Mental hospital! Just get her away from paparazzi and away from Alex Rider and away from the US."_

"_She could come live here…"Mrs. Jones dangled the idea in front of Mr. Blunt._

"_That could work… she'd be a fantastic agent, if her face wasn't so recognizable…" Mr. Blunt considered. Finally—"start her on basic training immediately."_

"_Absolutely not. The CIA would have a fit. Obama would go ballistic and the media would lap it up. And which unit of basic training is fit to raise a child? Some are practically children themselves! Also—it's the middle of her school year!"_

"_If she steps foot on British soil she must do something useful." _

"_No." Mrs Jones was quiet but firm and Mr. Blunt didn't quite know how to proceed. Technically, he was her superior…but when it came to Alex and Rose the line blurred considerably._

"_Well…why not?"_

"_We've destroyed Alex's life. We needed one child. We have one child. Enough."_

"_Alright, we'll wait until she's eighteen. She's what? Fifteen now? She'll live with an agent until she's of age."_

"_Which one?" _

"_Wolf? Tamara?"_

"_They are not parents!"_

_Mr Blunt paused for a long moment, considering.. "How are Jill and Stephen, Tulip?"_

_Mrs. Jones swallowed. "Fine, thanks. They love Australia. I'm planning a visit soon."_

_Mr Blunt glanced down at a memo that lay on his pristinely tidy desk. "Soon as in—2011."_

"_You can't be too careful."_

_Mr Blunt smiled grimly. "No, you absolutely cannot. How would you like to be a mother again?" _

**The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, five months later:**

The guests smiled at each other politely, each wishing they were somewhere else. Of course, the charity gala was just _lovely_… but still. It was rather stuffy in the ballroom.

"And now… for the eighth tribute to our beautiful city, may I present…. Ms. Caitlyn Gilber!" The host announced, dutifully.

A rather sour faced girl grimaced at the audience, adjusting her dress before clearing her throat and beginning:

In the fall

New York stands tall

All the natives

Feel inspired to be creative…

_If I hear one more word about New York in the fall, I'm going to throw up. _Rose hit the "send" button on her phone under the table, all the while smiling sympathetically and tutting as Mrs. Hollaway went on about her disastrous surgeries next to her.

Four seats down, Rose's brother David's phone dinged as he got her text. "Silence it!" Rose mouthed. David nodded, embarrassed as Mrs. Gilber glared at him for disrupting her daughter's poem. Thankfully, the room burst into a round of polite applause, saving David from apologizing.

Rose realized that the poem must have ended—finally.

"Number nine… our very own Lucy Hiles!" The host remarked, in a manfully enthusiastic tone.

Winter is very cold,

But New York never grows old,

Rose's phone vibrated. _Is winter any better?_

Spring brings cheer,

To our city, so dear.

Summer brings heat,

That brings life to our feet

_What a poet. Life to our feet? So impressive. _

And fall begins the frost,

David mimed retching into his half finished foie gras, laughing silently

But we'll have fur coats, at all costs!

The audience laughed appreciatively, while Rose wrinkled her nose. Poems one through eight had been terrible but inoffensive, but Lucy Hiles had brought the evening to new heights of tastelessness.

The noise level in the room raised as waiters removed the foie gras plates in preparation for the next course. The heat level rose, too, and Rose slipped out to the garden, needing air.

_What a depressing way to be spending my last night in New York. I want to be doing something with my friends, not watching these people get drunk on exquisite champagne and proceeding to toast themselves for ruling the world and being generally fabulous. _

_Problem is… I'm not really sure who my friends are, anymore. Ever since the paparazzi started leaving me alone… still. I've been fake friends with people for months, surely we could have acted like it for one more month!_

Tonight Rose was attending the Ode to New York gala. All the funds raised would be donated to Central Park's upkeep. _It's a good theory, actually…but judging from the state of the poems, the money should be donated to New York's English departments._

Through the glass doors, she saw the host gearing up to present Junior Shakespeare #10. _No, no, no, no, no. _The poems gave a soulless depiction of New York's streets in various seasons (mostly fall). Some really original ones branched out into the smells of Manhattan, but even those didn't accurately capture the feel of the city. Words like "beautiful", "busy", "populated"—yes, that's true, but so much _more. _No one described the feeling of walking down the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Or running down Fifth Avenue in the heat of the summer. And Times Square at night? Or the Coach store, with the huge windows and the view over Lex and Fifty Seventh? Not pretty. In fact, dirty and loud and rude and bustling and real (the view, that is. The actual store is the antithesis of its location—elegant.)

Not typically beautiful—but what a savage beauty!

So why was Rose here, instead of with her friends, ice skating in at Chelsea Piers, or eating ice cream opposite the statue of Atlas, or doing any number of things she actually wanted to?

The answer came as the warm summer evening breeze gently ruffled the trees. The glass doors opened and Mrs. Jones stepped onto the balcony.

"Number twelve is finishing her poem. You're up," she said, simply. She scowled as the breeze continued to linger, whipping a particle of dust into her eye. "Filthy city. Come inside, dear."

Mrs. Jones' English accent contrasted sharply with the odd, glittering glamour that was Manhattan in a way that Alex's accent never did. _Alex…_

Rose stared out at the sea of people looking up at her expectantly. Curiosity was the dominant emotion on their faces. Curiosity, and pity. Rose _hated_ pity.

"My late father always said that New York was the first love of his life, and he brought me and my brothers up with that belief. While I've spent a lot of time in Los Angeles over the past couple of years, I have always called New York my home—because it is. A love of this charming city (—_and an excuse to drink champagne and show off—) _is what has brought us together tonight. Now, as many of you know, this is the last night that I'll be here. Tomorrow, at some ungodly hour—" there were light titters from the audience—"I'll be on a plane to England. I'm going to live with my long lost aunt, Tulip Jones. In fact, so long lost that I didn't even know she existed until last year."

Rose smiled sweetly at Mrs. Jones, who frowned at her while managing to simultaneously smile at everyone else. Rose choked back a giggle.

"Be that as it may, my father appointed her as my, and my brothers', official guardian. So that's that. I will miss you all so much (—_ish_—) and…and…" Rose paused, collecting herself, "the Upper East Side will always be my home." It was the most sincere thing that was said all evening, and the audience murmured softly in sympathy. The beautiful orphaned teenager whisked out of the country with her mysterious aunt, while her brothers were sent to boarding schools? Scandalous.

The air hostesses walked up and down the aisles offering blankets and pillows. Rose hadn't been lying when she spoke about the ungodly hour. Rose reached to get out her own pillow, but Mrs Jones was wide awake and stopped her.

"Are you excited, dear?" Mrs. Jones was sucking another peppermint.

"We're on a private jet. There's no one else around, you don't have to call me dear."

"Your brothers didn't make such a fuss."

"They're going to boarding school. They have other stuff on their mind. I presume I am, too?"

Mrs. Jones looked shocked. "Starting in September, you are going to school, yes."

It was Rose's turn to be shocked. "What? Why? What the hell? Can't I stay in the city?"

Mrs. Jones eyed her. "You can't stand those people any more than I can. You thought that everyone in that room was vapid, nauseating, and arrogant. And since you have no other family responsible enough to take care of you… and since you, not your brothers, know much too much about the inner workings about MI6… we have decided to care for you ourselves."

"So instead of killing me, you're adopting me?"

"I am your temporary guardian, yes."

The thought that had been nagging at Rose couldn't be contained any longer. "Am I being trained?"

A veil fell over Mrs. Jones' eyes. "You are free to pursue any career you so choose, once you turn eighteen. Now go to sleep, you look exhausted."

They drove to a quietly expensive building from Heathrow Airport. It was unremarkable in the extreme. They rode up the elevator in silence, the doorman shifting his weight awkwardly under the weight of all the bags.

They got off on the eleventh floor and stopped in front of a door with a keypad and fingerprint scan next to it. Mrs Jones glared at the porter until he left the hallway, scuttling off down the emergency stairs.

Mrs. Jones sighed heavily. "It's been a while since anyone under the age of about fifty has come to my apartment." She chuckled, and then amended. "Well, with an invitation."

Rose was to numb to care what that meant. She was tired and stiff and cold and lonely and homesick. She slumped against the wall as Mrs Jones entered in the passcode and opened the door.

"Of course, the one who entered without permission was—"

Rose felt all her fatigue evaporate as she saw "Alex!"

* * *

**Sequel!!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long wait! This chapter's pretty long, hopefully that'll make up for it...**

* * *

Alex was standing in the middle of the room with his back to them. His hands were jammed into his pockets and he was standing slightly awkwardly, staring at a long pane of glass that stretched across the center of the room. It was only visible because of the late afternoon sun that hit the glass just right.

"Alex!"

He whipped around just in time to catch Rose as she ran into his arms. He hugged her fiercely; it had been a long year. Text messages and emails and even videochats just weren't good enough.

Alex held Rose at arms length, examining her face. It was older, matured.

He caught Mrs. Jones' eye over Roses shoulder and smiled sheepishly, jerking his head towards the glass. "I see you've repaired it."

A ghost of a smirk flashed on her face. "We wouldn't want any assassins sneaking in or anything."

Rose looked curiously from one to the other but was too tired to ask.

Mrs. Jones looked at her understandingly. "Rose, your room in just through there. Why don't you go lie down for a little, and then we'll discuss life."

* * *

Rose was sleeping soundly. Mrs. Jones deposited her bags in her room before returning to the sitting room. Alex was waiting for her. She sat down on the armchair facing him across the coffee table.

He looked at Mrs Jones piercingly. _He's so much like his father_, Mrs Jones thought; the same messy blond hair, the same alert gaze, and inevitably, the same hardening of the face. It was the inexorable fate of a spy—work for MI6 long enough, and you start to take your missions home with you. _And Alex _has_ worked for MI6 too long…_

"What is she doing here?" Alex's voice was quiet, controlled, and dangerous.

"I would have thought you'd be delighted to see Rose again."

"Not like this."

"Rose was and is a security risk. We gave her a year, Alex! Far too long. A mistake on our part. We simply had no idea what to do with her, or you, for that matter. We figured that the best thing for her was to be far away from MI6, and you, if you'd like to know the truth. We had no idea that the CIA would go ballistic and honestly, the time came where we had to get her out of her country and away from her friends—and let me tell you: they are an unimpressive group of people, as a whole. Anyway, Alan wanted to send her to Basic Training—can you imaging her in an army unit! A disaster. He doesn't understand children at all…

"And Rose is not a normal child. Fancy growing up with your face on a billboard in the middle of the city! The poor girl was both spoiled rotten and starved for love. The point is that she doesn't have the anonymity that is necessary for a spy. So we shipped her brothers off to Dearfield Academy in Massachusetts—they are much too young, but there you go—and we've brought her here. She is going to boarding school in two weeks. You will be going, too. There is no mission for either of you. Relax. Learn. Be students."

Alex snorted. "No mission?"

Mrs. Jones smiled grimly. "None."

Alex got up and began pacing, staring out the window. "No…too easy…" he muttered to himself before wheeling around to face Mrs Jones. He was tall, about five ten and growing.

"Is the school run by MI6?"

Mrs. Jones stayed calm, but sighed internally. It was foolish of her to hope that Alex wouldn't ask this. "Alex… it's a good school. We won't force you into anything you don't want to."

"Or Rose."

"Or Rose. Now go, I have work to do. We will be in touch."

* * *

Rose was woken up a few hours later by the sound of the doorbell ringing. She was disoriented and torn between her desire for sleep and her extremely insistent stomach. Her stomach won. Rose got out of bed and reached for her cellphone. She groped blindly in her bag for a few moments before remembering that Mrs. Jones had taken it from her before they boarded the plane. _Damn._

She found her iTouch and turned it on. 8:12 England time_. I'm actually here. Yuck._

There was a bed on the wall next to the window, directly opposite the door. A lamp rested on a mahogany nightstand next to the bed. There was a small, cozy looking window seat. The desk was next on the third wall, the wall in between the window and the door. The wall was dotted with pictures of the English countryside. Pretty.

Opposite the desk was a wall with two doors—the closet (_decent size…ish. Maybe._) and a bathroom. The walls were painted a light green. The room was bare and empty, with all the furniture against one of the walls. Rose's room was clearly a hastily adapted guest room.

A flash of blue caught her eye. It looked to have fallen behind the desk and Rose was standing at just the right angle to see it. She bent down and fished out a picture frame, covered in turquoise rhinestones. The picture was slightly lopsided, as if it had been taken by a child. It was obviously taken at a birthday party. A much younger Mrs. Jones held a little girl's hand as she stood next to her just-turned-seven-years-old son. He had a crown on and he was about to blow out the candles on a soccer, no, sorry, _football_ cake. A bunch of other little children crowded around the periphery.

The picture made Rose's heart hurt. She tried to remember her mother but her memory was distorted and vague, like she was looking through a kaleidoscope. She had been four when her mother was killed in a car accident; her father had remarried and produced her brothers with wife number two. Her mother had been _Parisienne_, through and through—

Rose was shaken out of her reverie by Mrs. Jones knocking at the door. "I had sushi delivered. Would you like something to eat?"

* * *

Dinner was over. Mrs Jones and Rose sat silently.

Rose broke the silence first. "I saw that picture."

"Which one?" Mrs. Jones popped a peppermint into her mouth.

"The one you wanted me to see."

Mrs Jones didn't deny it, and Rose appreciated that. "Considering that I am now your legal guardian, I thought that maybe you should know that I was once a human being—" she barked out a laugh—"whatever you may think of me now."

Rose nodded. "What happened to them?"

"Jill and Stephan? I lied to them their entire childhood…until they had a run-in with Scorpia. Alex has told you all about _them_, I suppose. Anyway, after that I sent Jill and Stephen to Australia… and they've been there ever since. Never quite forgave me."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. The silence became almost companionable.

This time Mrs. Jones broke it. Her voice was brisk and businesslike.

"In two weeks you will be going to school. Alex will be going too. Its a couple hours drive from here. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll give you your new phone and laptop. A warning—they are both tapped.

About your room. You may redecorate any way you see fit, within reason. All expenses will be charged to a credit card, which you will also be receiving tomorrow. As my responsibility, you will have access to my private line. There are now four people in the world who have that number. Do not call that number unless it is an emergency, please."

Rose nodded and got up to go to bed.

Halfway across the room she paused.

"Who took that picture?"

Mrs. Jones' shoulders stiffened. "And that is a story for another day."

"Just tell me the name…please."

"My ex husband. Donald Jones."

* * *

After Rose had gone to bed, Mrs Jones sat down at her desk and pushed a button. A computer appeared seamlessly from the desktop. She opened up an email:

TO BE SEEN BY ALAN BLUNT ONLY

Lies Told Recently To Agent Rider and Rose Leighton 

KEEP THE STORY STRAIGHT.

**We had no idea the CIA would go ballistic, etc. **

Of no consequence. A. doesn't know or care enough about foreign relations to understand.

**The only reason Rose isn't currently prepping to be a spy is that she is too recognizable.**

There were many reasons that went into the decision, very few of which need to be told to A. Or R.

**David and Nathaniel Leighton were sent to Dearfield because the CIA kicked up a fuss about letting them come to England when they know nothing about MI6.**

There is a much more compelling reason, which R. should never find out.

**A. is accompanying R. to boarding school because his grades weren't good enough for his current school. **

Ridiculous. A. didn't believe me for an instant.

**The school that A. and R. will attend is in no way, shape, or form an MI6 feeder school.**

Every student that passes through George Mansfield Academy graduates with many, many useful life skills that other schools overlook in their curriculums. Incidentally, many of those skills are precisely the skills that MI6 needs.

Note: This lie will be discovered within five minutes of A. and R. reaching the school building.

**A. and R. are not being sent to George Mansfield Academy on a mission.**

While this is not technically a lie, it is being included on this list because of the high likelihood that it will develop into a mission.

Note: A. and R. should be equipped accordingly.

**Donald Jones took that picture.**

That picture was taken by Marguerite Leighton, née de Lisette.

Note: This is trivial in and of itself, but it is in the best interest of Queen and Country that Rose know as little as possible about her mother's involvement with MI6.

* * *

**Good? Bad? Terrible? Tell me what you think.**

**Extra cred for anyone who knows why the school is called what it is. Hint: George Mansfield is not his full name.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I know I've been hideous about updating. I was planning to finish this up over Passover, but... I'm three weeks late. **

**I'm so sorry! I'll try to get the next chapter in before my finals. **

**This one is extra long, to make up for the despicable wait. **

* * *

Rose looked at the foot of her bed anxiously. Her school trunks were all ready and waiting for the next day. Tomorrow, she'd be at her new boarding school. The week before, Mrs. Jones had supplied her with a credit card, cell phone, and laptop. Rose and Mrs. Jones had gone shopping for quite a few new things; Rose was surprised at how generous Mrs. Jones had been with all the designer labels. There was a strict uniform of plaid pleated skirts and white button down shirts with plain black shoes, but there was so much wiggle room there. She had bought eight pairs of new black shoes, from Tory Burch to Miu Miu's. She stifled a giggle at the thought of the look on Gordon Brown's face if he knew exactly where England's tax money was going.

Rose had swiped her credit card with reckless abandon. Mrs. Jones never said a word. Every time Rose signed her name, she felt a savage, animal pleasure that came with her act of defiance—and she knew that she was defying MI6, even if Mrs. Jones didn't say anything. With every pound of MI6's money spent, Rose was sticking out her tongue at the people who were trying to recruit her.

She was starting to feel sickened with herself. She set her jaw and refused to cry, though she felt sickened with herself. _I swore to myself that I wouldn't become a Gossip Girl socialite. So why was my chosen act of defiance buying six thousand dollars' worth of clothes and accessories? I hate to admit this, but that was _so_ pathetic of me. _

_Tomorrow, I'm going to have no friends._

_Maman and Daddy. Where are you? I need you so much now. Please don't leave me by myself._

* * *

Alex got out of the shower, exhausted. He had been on his feet all day, showing Rose around London, but he knew that that wasn't why the cause of his tiredness. No, it was mental exhaustion. Both Alex and Rose had spent the day skirting over any mention of—well, anything. When they discussed their year, both of them had come to a tacit agreement not to talk about anything more substantive than sports teams or friends. Neither of them talked about their last mission, which had resulted in the death of Rose's dad and the breaking up of her family; nor did they talk about their upcoming mission, which was yanking Alex of his school and his life.

_It's stressful, trying to pretend that both of us are normal… why is it so hard for me and Rose to do a normal boyfriend-girlfriend thing together? If we even are still together. Yet _another_ thing we didn't talk about. Jesus Christ. _

Alex flopped down on his chair, turning on his computer. He cursed it's sluggishness and made a mental note to ask Smithers for something better. _Is this the best MI6 can come up with for their youngest agent?_

The computer still hadn't finished starting up. He ran a towel through his still-damp hair and put on a clean pair of boxers, not bothering with a shirt.

Alex typed in "George Mansfield Academy", knowing that it was useless. No way was MI6 that stupid.

_Did you mean: __**Mount Mansfield Winter Academy**__?_

_No standard web pages containing all your search terms were found._

_Your search - __**George Mansfield Academy **__–did not match any documents._

_Suggestions:_

_Make sure all words are spelled correctly._

_Try different keywords._

_Try more general keywords._

He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Of course not." Alex flipped open.

"Wolf?... Yes, it's Alex….no, I haven't been kidnapped…. everything's fine… listen, I was wondering, would you mind doing me a favor?..."

* * *

Rose sat down at the desk and turned the computer on. She had Internet Explorer was up and running in seconds. _That was fast… MI6 has good stuff._

She Googled "George Mansfield Academy".

_Did you mean: __**Mount Mansfield Winter Academy**__?_

_No standard web pages containing all your search terms were found._

_Your search - __**George Mansfield Academy **__–did not match any documents._

_Suggestions:_

_Make sure all words are spelled correctly._

_Try different keywords._

_Try more general keywords._

Rose exhaled loudly. She wasn't really surprised—she knew MI6 would send her to an MI6-affiliated school. Rose was just surprised that it was so…off the record.

* * *

Alex woke up early the next day. He immediately opened up his inbox and printed out the information that Wolf had sent him. He stapled it together, and then stapled his summer reading list and Sparknotes' plot summaries for all the books on top of it.

He ran down the stairs just as the town car pulled up at his doorstep.

* * *

Mrs. Jones sat with her back to the driver, facing Alex and Rose. Alex was reading a packet of plot summaries for all his schoolbooks, and Rose was reading _Le comte de Monte Cristo_. Mrs Jones shuddered internally. _Marguerite only spoke to Rose in French… that's how Rose knows it._

Alex's head jerked up from his plot summaries. Mrs. Jones started as he voiced her thoughts: "Rose, you're reading that in _French_?"

Rose scanned his face. Something was wrong in the tone of his voice. "Yes, it's better in the original…why?"

"I didn't know you spoke French…"

"My mother wouldn't speak anything else."

"Your mother…"

Rose raised her eyebrows questioningly, but Alex shook his head.

The security checkpoint had let the car through without stopping. They pulled up before a gate guarding a Georgian monstrosity made of red brick, with a neat lawn in front, a wilderness to the left, and rolling hills to the right. An engraved plaque on the gate read: The George Mansfield Academy for Boys and Girls. The "and Girls" looked quite squashed, as if it was a recent addition.

It was the ideal English school…except there was no sign of any children. The grounds were decidedly lifeless. It was spooky.

For a minute nobody moved. Alex, Rose, and Mrs. Jones all steeled themselves against their personal fears and misgivings.

Mrs. Jones broke the silence. "We'd best get on. Thank you, Wolf," she added casually over her shoulder. She hustled Alex and Rose out of the car, where Wolf was already unloading their suitcases from the back. He winked at Alex when he saw Alex's summer reading. "Good man," he whispered. "You've been trained well. You'll need it here."

"Bye, Wolf," he muttered.

Alex nodded and turned to Rose, intending to properly introduce them. He hesitated when he saw her face. She didn't look in any state to be introduced to anyone. She looked terrified and slightly rebellious. She caught his eye rearranged her features quickly, but some of the defiant fear lurked behind her eyes and in the whiteness of her knuckles as she gripped her bag. Alex silently reached for her hand. Rose relaxed into his strong grip, and Alex smiled in slightly smug satisfaction.

A man was coming to greet them across the lawn. His stance was comical: he half bowing and half running, all the time muttering something. A woman followed behind him, walking at her own pace.

Mrs Jones caught Alex and Rose's smirk and said firmly, "This is your deputy headmaster, Dr. John Slake."

Dr. Slake reached them. "Mrs…Mrs. Jones! This is so un—what I mean is…this is a lovely surprise…we were unaware—I mean to say that…it is unusual for you to bring the children yourse—of course, it is lovely—_lovely_—to see you in person, we just…"

Rose had stopped laughing. Alex was the better spy by far, but her years in Hollywood had sensitized Rose to power structures. Alex saw a nervous man struggling to impress his boss; Rose saw a man terrified of Mrs. Jones seeing something. She also saw that Mrs. Jones was well aware of that, and that was the reason that Mrs. Jones personally took Alex and Rose to school.

Mrs. Jones cut in smoothly as Dr. Slake's voice trailed off. "Dear old Mansfield. I thought I'd come up and see Dr. Bale, if it's not too inconvenient. My main reasons for making the trip, though," she smiled dangerously, "are standing right in front of you. Alex Rider—" Alex shook Dr. Slake's hand—"and Rose Leighton." Rose shook his hand. It was damp and unpleasantly

soft.

"Alex, Rose, Dr. Slake is the deputy headmaster, and Dr. Bale is the headmaster. I assume you will meet him—"

"Later tonight, after dinner." The woman had reached them. "That is when he greets all the new students. You must be Alex and Rose. I am one your skills teacher, Miss Dorcas. Oh, hello, Tulip," she said coolly.

If Mrs Jones had been watching Alex's face for the past five minutes, she would have seen amusement for four minutes, and interest for one. If she had been watching Rose's face, she would have seen Rose's face be move from amusement to understanding to wariness to apprehension to blankness. Rose hadn't missed a beat of the entire exchange.

Things would have turned out very differently if it had been Mrs. Jones observing Rose. Instead, it was Miss Dorcas, who was watching her intently, and planning...

* * *

Dr. Slake showed them all into a study room right near the front door.

"You children will go to—to your dormitories from here, and then straight to dinner—I'm sure you'll fit in very, very well!" His voice became a high pitched plea. He cleared his throat. "You'll be…saying your goodbyes?"

"Yes," Mrs. Jones said. "I'd like to speak to Rose for a minute, so if you'll excuse us…" everyone dutifully exited the room.

Mrs Jones turned to Rose and began speaking very fast and quietly. "They'll ask you to turn in your mobile phone. Do not do it—keep it for emergencies. Instead, give them this phone. It's not a dummy, it will work fine—but keep the one I gave you. Do not tell anyone at all, except Alex and Dr. Bale. Now, you know this is an MI6 school. There's no use lying about it anymore. Keep your eyes open and call me if there are any problems. Any at all, you hear me?"

Rose nodded. "How does Miss Dorcas know you?"

Mrs. Jones sighed. "Be especially cautious around her. Now, go on and meet all your new friends—and send Alex in. Have a lovely term, darling. See you in a few weeks."

Rose grimaced. "A lovely term. Thanks. See you."

She turned to walk out, stopped, turned back around, and hugged Mrs. Jones.

"Bye."

As Alex walked in, Mrs. Jones was struck (not for the first time) with how naturally he used his training. He automatically swept the room for escape routes and obvious threats, and Mrs. Jones knew that the hand that rested casually in his pocket held a penknife. He walked cautiously and deliberately, and his eyes held no traces of a child. The seriousness unnerved her.

"Odd that Dorcas called you Tulip."

"Let's not beat around the bush, I see. Alright—there you have it. She is your mission." Mrs. Jones held up a hand to silence Alex's questions. "Miss Dorcas was hired to teach skills—which is a euphemism for espionage. She will teach you how to get past a polygraph, among other things. I do not trust her. You are here to _observe only_. If you see anything at all, go to Dr. Bale and Dr. Bale alone. You most likely will not see anything."

Alex nodded once. "What am I to tell Rose about Mrs. Dorcas?"

Mrs Jones tensed. "Now why would you ask that?"

Alex's mouth tightened at the corners. "I'll take that answer to mean "whatever I think best to tell her". All the kids are in their rooms already, I think I'll join them. See you next term, Mrs. Jones. Smithers gave me a special iPod—we'll be in touch."

"Goodbye, Alex."

He walked out without a backwards glance.

_How much does Alex know?_

* * *

_  
_

Merle Docile Dorcas watched Alex leave the Study Room. He scanned the corridor briefly before walking quickly over to the loveseat next to the entrance hall where Rose sat waiting.

Miss Dorcas strode into the Study Room without bothering to knock. Mrs Jones looked up, unsuprised.

"Merle."

"John Rider's son, I presume. Well, congratulations, he's a natural. I see it. But Marguerite's daughter?" Miss Dorcas was shaking with rage. "You didn't. After what you did to Marguerite, how _could_ you?"

Mrs. Jones was all steel and ice. The maternal feeling that Rose had brought out evaporated. "You are confusing me with DTRNT. They did it to her. Also—what I did it to John, and Ian, and hundreds of others. It doesn't bother you when their children enroll. Now, I must see Dr. Bane. Good day." Mrs. Jones briskly walked out.

Miss Dorcas sank down on a plush chair and rocked her head in her hands. "For what I am about to do, I do so with full knowledge, understanding and intent. May God and Marguerite forgive me." She crossed herself and sat motionless until the dinner bell rang.

* * *

**Maybe I'll make up a "please review" song and dance or something. Do you think it will work?**


	4. Chapter 4

The school building itself was old, but it contained some of the most modern technology in Britain. Alex walked down a polished wood corridor, marveling at metal detectors seamlessly woven into the staff lounge's doorframe and pin cameras to small for human eyes that he could sense tucked away in alcoves.

Alex stopped in front of a door on the second floor. Room 809. He considered knocking, but decided against it. He nudged the door open with one foot as he shoved his Sparknotes packet out of sight with one hand, clutching two suitcases with the other.

The room he entered was small but pleasant, with windows overlooking the football fields. There were three solid looking beds covered in navy blue sheets with a standard white pillow. Two of the beds looked like they had been to hell and back. Empty crisp packets poked out from pillow cases, and a half- empty Coke can lay balanced precariously in the center of the bunched up duvet. A muddy football had left a streak of brown from the open bathroom to the bay windows, dividing the room in half. Despite himself, Alex grinned.

He set his bags down by the fresh bed and swept the room for bugs.

The room was clean.

_Yeah, right._

Alex tossed the Gameboy down onto the bed. He would have to find the bug manually, and he knew that the odds were against him in such a state of the art facility. Scowling, he strode off towards the bathroom door. It was unlikely that the bug was there, but he had to check anyway.

Two minutes in the bathroom proved to Alex that if the bug was in there, he didn't have a prayer of finding it. He moved back into the main room, starting with the window sill, staying as far away as possible from the odor that emanated from the dirty clothes underneath his roommates' beds.

Alex had just replaced his bedside lamp when the door banged open.

* * *

"Freddie! Oi, FREDDIE! I was right! Ten quid…_eleven_ quid..." The boy crowed with delight. He had chestnut curls and green, sparkling eyes. His straight white teeth, bared in glee, completed his charming ladies man look.

"Shut up, you fucker. Ten quid it is, but not _now_. When I've found my wallet." Freddie peered over the boy's shoulder. Freddie was round and pink, with brown hair and glasses. Alex got the impression that Neville Longbottom had just been introduced.

Alex walked forward. "Alex Rider. I don't know if they told you, but I'm your new roommate."

Freddie pushed past the boy. "There was a rumor going around—but Dr. Slake didn't say—he told us—" the other boys smiled, and Freddie shrugged droopily. "So now I owe Cullen here ten quid."

"Eleven. He's checking for bugs—aren't you? By the way, I'm Cullen, and this is Freddie." Cullen flopped down onto Alex's bed and winced when he landed on the gameboy. "Ahh, shit, man. Sorry." He retrieved the gameboy from underneath his back.

"You didn't find anything, did you?" Freddie had perched precariously on the bedknob of the bed opposite Alex's.

"Find anything?" Alex's dark eyes opened wide.

Cullen rolled his eyes. "Lookee here, Freddie, he already thinks we're idiots and he's known us about five seconds. _Did you find any bugs_, Rider, Alex Rider?"

Alex opened his mouth but Freddie jumped in. "Jackie and Cora found a bug in their mattress. At least, they _think_ it was a bug. They're not really _sure_. By the way, did you come across my wallet anywhere?"

Cullen raised his eyebrows. "They aren't really sure of much. Not even how to spell their own names."

Alex lolled against the wall, looking out at the room from hooded eyes. "Yeah, next to the toilet. You two live like pigs. And nah, my gameboy didn't pick anything up. Maybe they actually respect our privacy or something."

"Or something," Freddie muttered.

Cullen rolled over on his stomach and flipped open the gameboy. "You're still sore?"

Freddie nodded miserably. Alex raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Cullen put Alex's gameboy down, aware of his audience. "Last year, at the start of term, Freddie managed to get in some Cadbury's bars. I don't know if they've let you in on this yet, but physical fitness is important here at George Mansfield. Like, they go berserk over it. So anyway, Freddie's grandmother or maid or doting great aunt or whatever brought him a whole stash of wicked stuff.

No one knew but us two. He hid them under a loosened floorboard, and in a boot, and in a hollowed out picture frame" (Freddie puffed out his chest) "and we had a right feast after dinner one night. The whole thing was between us and God and we kept it that way, thank you very much.

We smuggled the wrappers out the next day and threw them in the lake. A slick operation. Hell. But anyway, that night we got a call from Slake—a douche if ever I met one—and both of us are carted off to Bale's office—"

"Bale? Dr. Bale?" Alex's head jerked up. "What's he like?"

"In_fucking_sane—he almost got a coronary over our fucking midnight fiesta. I really thought he was gonna expel me."

Freddie interjected quietly, "that's because you invited him to round two."

Alex and Cullen smirked. "But the weird thing was—he knew we didn't have any more food stashed away. Dr. Bale knew exactly where we had hid it, and he knew that you were to stuffed to scarf the last pack of Whoppers, so I ate them for you.

Anyway, Bale is freaking out, when in waltzes Miss Dorcas and she tells Bale to chill. _And he does_!" Cullen's eyes were bright. "And after we get out of the hellhole, Dorcas just tells us it was an impressive operation and motherfucking _congratulates_ us."

Alex sighed. "Speaking of food, I think I missed dinner."

The door opened again. Alex's eyes opened fully as Rose said: "You didn't miss much."

* * *

Rose trudged up to the seventh floor, reciting the Table of Elements in her head. It was a trick that she had learned early on and used at many premieres and benefits. It kept her smile perfect, her eyes calm, and her mind free from worry. It also gave Rose a sparkle of superiority to know that she was capable of memorizing the Table at the age of five; Rose would never admit how much of her sanity she owed to elements Hydrogen through Nobelium.

She finally made it up the stairs, and found herself faced with a never-ending length of corridor. "Iridium," Rose whispered, before plastering on a too-cool half smile and strutting down her makeshift runway.

The door to room 702 seemed even larger and closed more securely than any of the others. Rose steeled herself and pushed open the door.

The room wasn't large, but it was bright and neat. Three neatly made beds were clearly positioned to give privacy. In the middle of the wood floor was a faded rug, and in the middle of the rug sat two blond girls playing cards. They looked up as Rose walked in.

"Over there," said one of them, correctly interpreting Rose's glance around the room and gesturing to a bed by the window.

"Whoa, sweetie, you brought way to much luggage," the other said, good naturedly. She untwined her dirty blond hair from around her pinky and Rose saw a pink streak running through it. She hopped up to help Rose bring all her bags in.

"I hope those are filled with clothes," the other said. Rose nodded. "Yep. Filled to the brim."

"_American_," they shrieked, giggling. Then Pink Streak turned serious. "Well, obviously we already knew that, remember that article about her in Seventeen?"

"Yeah…" Non pink streak nodded and looked appraisingly at Rose. "Don't be offended if I don't ask for your autograph, Rose Leighton, but I lived in Cali for a bit and I saw _soooo_ many celebrities…"

"_Cali_. Here we go again," Pink Streak exhaled, looking bored. "Regale us with the time you nearly met Kim Kardashsomething. Do. I'm sure Rose Leighton has never met anyone nearly as cool. Honestly. Kim makes Brad Pitt look like Freddie."

Rose laughed. "Where in California did you live?"

"San Fransisco. But only for a little. Come on, Rose Leighton, tell us about LA."

Rose grimaced. "Rose."

Both girls stared. "What?"

"Rose. Not Rose Leighton. Just Rose. Wait—what are your names?"

Pink Streak laughed. "I guess we forgot to tell you. I'm Belle, and this is Sabina."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Come _onnn_," Sabina wailed from behind a magazine. "I'm half starved. Everyone's been at dinner for ages."

And the three BFFs left the room.

* * *

The dining hall was huge, with soaring ceilings and many small tables, seating about eight each. The room fell silent as Sabina handed Rose a tray and warned her to stay away from the toad in the hole, but recommended the chips. Rose kept a mask of cool detachment ("Borhium, Hassium, Meitnerium") as the entire room broke into frantic whispers and finger pointing. Rose ended up with a Caesar salad with chips on the side. Belle led them over to a table by the door ("for a quick getaway if Freddie is _too_ awful") and the three of them sat down, munching. Two boys got up from a table across the room and walked over to them.

Rose sized them up. The taller of the two was handsome, with a charming smile and a devil may care attitude. That much was obvious even from just seeing him walk. The other one was smaller and rounder, but he didn't scurry to keep up—the good looking one was keeping pace with him. They were friends. Handsome Hottie skyrocketed in Rose's estimation.

She glanced over at Belle and Sabina. Sabina looked quietly expectant. But Belle—she looked positively sappy. A smile illuminated her face and brought it from pretty to radiant. Sabina noticed, too. "Snap out of it—do you want to make him worse than he already is?" she hissed. Chastised, Belle dropped her gaze. "Poor Jackie and Cora. They must be dist_raught _that Cullen ditched them," she muttered.

_Handsome Hottie is good,_ Rose thought. It must take a lot to get Belle lovestruck.

The boys reached them. The rotund one slipped into a seat, smiling shyly at Belle. Hottie didn't sit. Hottie moved around the table to where Rose sat and casually took her hand from where it rested in her lap and kissed it. _Damn he's good_.

"Rose, charmante," he murmured. His green eyes danced, belying his politeness. "My name is Cullen, and this is Belle, and that is Sabina, and this is Freddie."

"Hey." Rose thought of what Alex would say about Cullen. Actually, they'd probably get on pretty well. Thinking about Alex was like wearing a 2010 Spring Collection Burberry raincoat; Cullen's charm was repelled, and Rose knew everyone was jealous that it looked so good on _her_.

Cullen sat down next to Sabina. He casually rested his hand on her knee. "That's right—you had a male traveling companion, didn't you?"

Sabina and Belle looked up, interested. Rose smiled mysteriously.

Freddie piped up unexpectedly. "Who is he rooming with?"

Rose shrugged. "No idea."

Cullen smacked his head with his palm. "Us, you idiot."

Freddie went pinker. "How do you know? It could be anyone—"

Sabina sighed. "Dorcas. I had forgotten about your little club."

Cullen gave her a cocky half smile. "Oui, ma chérie. And "club" is not the word."

Belle rolled her eyes. "Play your games with someone who cares, Cul. Now Rose—tell us about this boy. Is he sexy?"  
Rose grinned involuntarily, remembering the time they had torn each other's shirt in half. "Yes."

Cullen wolf whistled. "Well, in that case, I do apologize to my roommate, for making a pass at his lady."

Rose glanced at Belle to see if she was offended. But Belle was watching Freddie eat his food with a glazed look on her face. Freddie??

"Sickening, no?" Sabina gestured to the couple.

"Cute," Rose protested, genuinely touched.

"Lets call them Beddie," Cullen stage whispered, and all three of them burst out laughing.

"Ésta era diversión, mis amigos, pero debo ir realmente final mi preparación española o el Senor me matará." Sabina got up from the table.

"See ya," Rose said lazily, stretching.

"Nah, you'd better go with," Freddie said, looking up from his chicken. "Dr. Bale wants to see all new students when they arrive, and you'd better not be late. Round up your friend."

Rose walked with Sabina up to seven. "'Kay, I'm going to shower and then go get Alex to go to Dr. Bale."

Sabina nodded. "Alex? I once had a close friend called Alex,"

"Friend…? Sure."

The girls giggled and went their separate ways.

* * *

Rose was wearing her favorite jeans when she got to room 809. Cullen had mentioned that this was his room, and the odds were high that he was right about being Alex's roommate. The door was ajar, and Rose opened it in time to hear Alex complain about his lack of dinner.

Cullen gave them directions for Dr. Bale's office, and they set off together in silence.

Both of them sneaked sideways looks but neither of them spoke. They waited outside Dr. Bale's second floor study, listening to two people argue in Russian. The rise and fall of the voices were comforting, somehow; Alex reached for Rose's hand and Rose leaned her head against Alex's chest, listening to the beat of his heart and the sound of his breathing. They felt content for the first time in months.

The door flew open and Alex and Rose stood up, surprised. They heard an intake of breath as Alex stared into the face of a man he never wanted to see ever again.

"Show them in," a cold voice called from the depths of the suite. "Miss Leighton, Mr. Rider, I would like to introduce you to my colleague and close friend, Professor Yassen Gregorovitch."

* * *

**Between school starting and the High Holidays, life has been crazy (and will continue to be nuts!). **

**I am so so sorry. All I can say in my own defense is this: between Cannes and East Hampton, I had about thirty seconds to do summer reading--and two seconds with usable internet. **

**But the next chapter will hopefully be up sooner, just probably after the High Holidays end. It's been almost a year since I started my first Alex fanfic!**

**I love, love, LOVE all you guys who have stuck with me so far. Thank you so much. **


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